


Old Habit, New Setting

by yikesola



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: 2018, Established Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Phone Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-18
Updated: 2018-12-18
Packaged: 2019-09-22 05:55:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,546
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17054417
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yikesola/pseuds/yikesola
Summary: It was a busy trip, so Phil’s goodnight convos with Dan were sleepy. They were also surprisingly chaste. Couldn’t he just be nostalgic for phone sex? For the teasing ache of hearing Dan but having every other sense denied him?A fic about subtle ways of missing someone and phone sex.





	Old Habit, New Setting

“This is stupid.”

“Your mum is stupid.”

“Not your best.”

“Your mum’s my best.”

Dan laughs then. “Stop ruining the mood! This was your idea.”

Phil laughs as well because it’s true, it was his idea. And even he knew it was a little stupid, but he wanted to do it anyway. “C’mon babe,” he says while trying to lessen the laughter, “ruin the mood? I’m setting the mood.”

“With ‘your mum’ jokes?”

“Yeah, part of the nostalgia.”

“Is it really nostalgia if that’s still a joke we use literally all the time?” Dan asks. Phil ignores the fact that Dan kinda has a point.

But also like, the nostalgia _is_ the point. It’s why he’s bothering with this at all.

Phil had been anxious to get up north and see his parents after the tour— it’d been so long and he hadn’t really felt settled at home between missing them and editing the movie and continuing to push for any chance at pulling off the TBC shows.

Hell, Dan had beat him to it, heading over to Wokingham for a bit while Phil consoled himself with visiting an art show alongside Martyn and Cornelia and fiddling around with Instagram filters and attempting unsuccessfully to salvage whatever houseplants he could.

Phil, who loved going back home to see his family, didn’t have the chance to get out of London. While Dan, who dreaded any opportunity to be surrounded by reminders of his past, managed it.

So by the time he finally got the chance for a few days on the Isle of Man, he jumped at it. And it was a great visit— good weather, happy parents, and Dan distracted enough with _Red Dead Redemption 2_ that he didn’t get too buried in his own head while Phil was away.

It was a busy trip, not much downtime, and so his goodnight convos with Dan were sleepy.

They were also surprisingly chaste— no Skype wanks, no dirty texts, no naughty calls. Just “Hello, I love you, I miss you. What’d you do today? I’m exhausted. Goodnight, talk to you tomorrow, I love you.”

This from Dan and Phil, who used to Skype for five hours at a time because they were so far apart. Who had fumbled awkwardly through phone sex during their months of long distance back in the very beginning, and who indulged in revisiting it whenever they spent a rare night apart at this stage in their lives.

It wasn’t something they’d intended, their dry spell while Phil made his post-tour trek north. But it was something Phil found himself thinking about on the journey back to London.

And as he laid wrapped up in Dan that night after he’d welcomed him home.

And for the next few days.

Phil had been home for three days, and things had finally calmed down slightly work-wise. Just slightly. But enough. They were finally beginning to rest in a way their aborted plans for Pajama Week Pt2 would’ve allowed.

It wasn’t that he and Dan hadn’t been intimate in those three days. Hell, just that morning he’d woken up to Dan’s mouth on his neck and his fingers tugging at his waistband. And it wasn’t that the few days up north without getting each other off was like, catastrophic or anything.

It was just on Phil’s mind. Once something’s on Phil’s mind it’s usually impossible to drown it out or shove it aside.

Was this trip an outlier? Or was this simply a part of getting older? Of being more comfortably settled than ever?

And did it matter— or was he assigning the situation meaning that it didn’t actually have?

Couldn’t he just be nostalgic for phone sex? For the teasing ache of hearing Dan but having every other sense denied him?

One easy way to find out—

That’s how they wound up here.

He’s sitting in the lounge, on the sofa wrapped in Dan’s sad pimp blanket with his feet on the coffee table. Meanwhile Dan’s downstairs in the moon room, per Phil’s request. He had gone there when Phil asked him to, a little suspicious but willingly enough. Because Phil asked it of him, and Dan will usually do most things Phil asks of him.

So he’d gone into the moon room; he plops himself down on the bed and stretches out his bent spine, and waits maybe 30 seconds. Then his phone begins to ring and Phil’s face pops up on the screen.

“Wot?” he yells, loud enough for his voice to carry up the stairs.

“Pick up your phone!” Phil shouts back, with a laugh and a little impatience.

“Wot?” Dan says again when he answers.

“Something occurred to me.”

“Mm-hmm? What’s that?”

“Been a while since we had phone sex.”

Phil says it seriously enough, but Dan still lets out a snort of laughter. “I guess so.”

Phil asks, “You up for it?” He’s unexpectedly nervous.

“For phone sex?” Dan’s voice is on the edge of a laugh, Phil can tell, he can practically see Dan’s eye crinkles and the way he’s tilting his head. This is what he was after: the proof that they know each other so well that even a single sense will suffice.

“For phone sex, yeah.”

“Y’know, we could just... have sex,” Dan says. “Phone sex is, like, what people use to tide themselves over until they’re back in the same space.”

“I know, but we’re always in the same space.”

“You complaining, mate?” Phil can imagine the arch of Dan’s brow when he says this.

“No, obviously.” The laugh Phil gives is one part impatience and one part embarrassment.

“Then what’s this about?”

“I just like it sometimes, I guess,” he says. “And we didn’t bother while I was at my parents’ house. And, I dunno... it reminds me of like, early days. Of being so crazy about you and missing you so much.”

“If you’re missing me so much, just come downstairs and ravish me, Lester.”

“I can do that any old time, Dan—”

“—thanks!”

“I just wanna give this a try tonight.”

“You just want me to wank down here alone where you can’t even see me?”

“Yeah,” Phil shrugs, and he hopes Dan can imagine the shrug in the same way he’s imagining all of Dan’s gestures. “Want you to wank, and maybe some other stuff. You got the energy for fingers?”

“Not tonight, if I’m being honest.”

Phil always wants him to be honest. “That’s alright,” he says.

“Maybe I’d be more into it if you’d wined and dined me,” Dan says. “The meagre serving of leftover Indian takeaway we had earlier is not exactly inspiring the mood you want me in.”

“Well, come on up here if you promise to go back down after, please,” Phil bargains. Dan doesn’t answer but the line drops dead and Phil can hear his feet padding up the stairs.

They slip into the kitchen and have what is technically a glass of rosé each, but the glasses are large and they fill them generously. They also nibble on some pumpkin chocolate chip biscuits that Dan had picked up to welcome Phil home with and of which four had miraculously survived until now. They’re large and soft and reminding them of everything they really love about the spooky season.

They're feeling loose and warm by the time the wine is drained while they chat and lean close to one another. Not drunk, certainly, barely tipsy. But loose and warm. And Phil can see Dan itching to ask him, or possibly tease him, about this whole phone sex thing but he seems content to wait until they’re finished at least.

Phil’s about to steer Dan towards the stairs and try to get things actually moving when Dan pulls Phil’s arms around him and leans back against the counter.

“At least kiss me, Phil,” he says. “One for the road?”

Phil leans forward for a peck. “It isn’t very authentic,” he laughs. “When we’ve had phone sex before we never started with a make-out sesh.”

“I thought I’m the one who’s supposed to be obsessed with authenticity?” Dan teases, pulling Phil closer, begging for more than the peck he’d been given by kissing Phil with heat.

They stay there for a while; they stay there longer than Phil intended. Dan just feels so good— he feels so good and he tastes so good and he smells so good. Phil’s going to lose these senses in a bit, and even if it was his idea he’s still greedily going to hold onto them for just a bit longer.

Dan shifts his hips, grinding them into Phil’s, and he’s surprised to find that not only has Dan gotten hard from a few minutes of heated proper snogging, but he has as well. They both groan at the realization.

Maybe it’s because he’s excited to see if Dan will actually agree to this silly little thing, maybe it’s the wine or how incredibly good the last few days, months, year has been on the whole. Maybe it’s just that kissing Dan in their kitchen, hearing their lips smack and the little sighs Dan lets slip between the exhales, will never really fail to get him hard.

He slips a hand down to Dan’s ass and squeezes, just because he can’t help himself, before moving back a few steps. Dan’s pout is so goddamn cute he almost leans in to kiss him again, but he doesn’t trust his willpower to stop a second time.

“You want me downstairs, yeah?” Dan asks, his voice gruff and his smile expectant.

“Please,” Phil says.

When they’ve finally separated, back in the positions they’d been in before with Dan in the moon room and Phil on the sofa, they have their smiley argument over this whole thing being stupid and ‘your mum’ jokes being nostalgic. Which doesn’t ruin the mood, as Dan insists, because the mood has been consistent all night: Phil eager and Dan humouring him, but neither really sure what phone sex while they sit in different rooms of the same apartment is gonna look like.

“I feel like the usual script doesn’t work,” Dan laughs. “I can’t say shit like, ‘ooh babe, wish you were here,’ or ‘it’s been so long’ even though they’re phone sex lines.”

“Don’t feed me lines, Dan!” Phil pretends to be more scandalized than he really is because he knows what Dan means. “Has everything just been a line from you all these years?”

“Oh everything, verbatim from _Cosmo_ and...” he hesitates, then laughs, “I can’t finish the joke, I can’t think of another thing I would’ve picked up phone sex lines from.”

They laugh so hard they can hear one another in both the phone call and in how their voices carry through the flat.

The laughter is easy, because it always is with them. And also the wine helps.

“Don’t use a line,” Phil reiterates. “Just talk to me. You laying down?”

“Yeah,” Dan says.

“Still dressed?”

“Yeah. Should I not be?”

“Up to you.” Phil lets his hand move to his crotch. He doesn’t press or rub or apply any pressure really, just sits there with his hand over his clothed cock.

“I’ll stay dressed for now,” Dan says. He’s only in pyjama bottoms and his large stripped sweater anyways, so Phil figures he’s just as comfortable in that as he’d be naked.

“Alright,” Phil says. “You feel the wine?”

“Yeah.”

“Where?”

“Arches of my feet,” Dan says. His voice sounds distant now, but Phil recognizes after half a moment that it’s because Dan switched to speakerphone. It’s a good idea; he does it as well and sets the phone on the back of the sofa right by where he’s leaning his head. 

He closes his eyes. He slips his now-free hand up his shirt and tweaks a nipple. “Anywhere else?” he asks.

“Mmm, not sure.”

“You touching yourself at all?”

Dan’s chuckle is soft, it’s aimed directly at Phil’s heart and hits dead on. “No, just starfished at the moment. But you are.”

“I am?” Phil challenges.

“Yep. Your nipples, at least. Heard that gasp.”

Phil doesn’t even remember making that gasp. Yes, _this_ is what this whole thing is about. He lets a little groan slip out and hopes Dan hears that too.

Then Dan lets out a different sort of laugh and when Phil asks him what’s so funny Dan says, “I almost just said, ‘I miss you,’ as if you aren’t right in the fucking flat.”

Phil groans around a laugh. They seem to be the only two sounds he’s capable of, and he keeps veering between them. “I miss you too,” he says.

“Then get in here,” Dan says.

Phil ignores the bait. “You close?” It’s a stupid question, Dan had even said he wasn’t touching himself yet. But he asks it anyway.

“I’m literally across the apartment.”

“I meant close to finishing, you rat.”

“I’d be a lot closer if you were a lot closer.”

“You gonna actually get off or just complain until I crack?”

“What are the odds you’ll actually crack?”

“In flux. Currently low,” Phil says. “Just wank, Dan, c’mon! It’s not that hard.”

“Oh, you aren’t even hard now?”

“Shut _up_ ,” Phil laughs and groans and huffs all in the same breath, “oh my god.”

“So that’s a no?”

“You’re going to kill me.”

“Maybe I’ll just go upstairs then, if you won’t come down here.”

“Please, Dan,” Phil says, an edge of whine to his voice. “Just do this, for me?”

Phil knows he has him with that _for me_. He knows because he isn’t asking Dan for anything out of his comfort zone, just asking him for something admittedly silly, and that dragging out the _for me_ will be the end to all his teasing protests. Phil’s always very careful about when he uses such a powerful card. Now is an effective time to play it.

And it does work; Dan doesn’t even answer right away, but Phil hears a rustling and Dan’s breath catch in a way that convinces him Dan’s finally gotten a hand on himself at least.

“Fine,” he says. “Tell me what you want, Phil.” His voice is breathy and Phil can hear Dan’s smirk in his words but he doesn’t care. Hearing Dan say that has Phil’s chest tightening again.

He just really fucking loves Dan. Loves that Dan indulges him. Loves hearing Dan’s voice so breathy.

“Where are your hands?” he asks.

“One on my neck. Other just on the bed.”

“The one on your neck, you just trailing your fingers? Feather-light touches?”

“Mm-hmm,” he hums.

“And it’s good?”

“Always good,” Dan nods, or so Phil imagines. “Bit tame, though.”

“Get your other hand in your hair. Tug a bit. A little bit.”

Phil hears the tiny way Dan’s breathing hitches when he does. It’s so faint, these touches are so faint. But it’s enough to build on. Phil squeezes the hand that’s been resting on his crotch. Just once.

“Where are your hands?” Dan asks.

“Tell me where you think they are.”

“I think you’re an impatient bastard who reached for his cock ages ago.”

Phil’s sure Dan can hear his smirk when he says, “And the other?”

“On your chest, like I said. On your nipples.”

“Move the hand on your neck down your body,” he tells Dan. “Be slow. Trail that crease of your leg and your hip.”

It hits Phil then what another reason he wanted this is. He’s never very vocal in bed; he trips over words too much or just has his mouth occupied on Dan somewhere, and so it’s really only ever on the phone that he talks like this. A little dirty, sure, but not very dirty. Just... specific.

“Brush your fingers over your cock, outside your pants, Dan, and use as little pressure as you can.” Phil has moved his own hand to his hair now. He’s running his fingers through his quiff.

Dan’s grunts are telling him how sick of the teasing he is.

“Yeah?” he asks Phil, waiting for more. Phil lets him sweat for just a moment before continuing.

“Now stop,” he says. “Sit up, flip over.” He finally slips his hand beneath his pyjamas as he directs Dan and it feels so nice he lets out a proper moan to encourage them both. “Get a pillow. Rut into it.”

Phil can feel the heat of a blush on his face and is sure it’s equal parts the result of saying things he never really says and the result of being turned on picturing Dan. He’s responding to Phil’s words with breathy moans and whimpers and they sound like fucking music.

“Shit, Phil,” he says. There had been rustling on the phone as he’d moved around but now the only sound is the faint creak of the bed from Dan’s movements and the sounds falling from his lips. “Fuck. What’re you doing?”

“I’m wanking. You’re so hot, I’m just wanking.”

“Course you are,” Dan attempts to be cheeky, but the effect is lost as his voice shakes, closely followed by, “ _Fuck_ , tell me what you want, Phil. Tell me.”

“Rut ‘till you’re close… get yourself close,” he hears Dan agreeing to this easily enough. “Then stop, Dan, and flip back over.”

“Just for the hell of it?” he asks, pissed that Phil’s not going to make this easy.

“Because I asked,” Phil says, and it feels like a little too much to outright say, but really it’s what it comes down to. He asked, and Dan will do it, and that’s so fucking hot his hand picks up speed.

Dan’s hips are grinding into the pillow for a few minutes, while he’s whimpering out a slew of Phil’s name and words that begin as “fuck” or “oh my god” but lose their way before he finishes saying them. Phil’s moved his feet off the coffee table and planted them firmly on the ground.

Suddenly the faint sounds of the mattress moving stops, and instead Dan’s breathing comes out in harsh gasps. “I stopped, you monster,” he says through gritted teeth and Phil is imagining his red face and sweat-glistened temples. “I almost didn’t fucking stop.”

“But you did,” Phil has to take his hand off his cock at that. “Thank you.”

“Can’t turn over yet. Give me a moment.”

“Of course.”

Dan’s breath steadies and eventually, Phil hears the rustling of him flipping onto his back. “What’re you doing?” he asks.

“Nothing, right now,” Phil tells him. “Had to stop. You sound so fucking good, Dan.”

“Phil, you’re gonna kill me.”

“If you get your hand on your cock are you gonna come?”

“Embarrassingly quickly, yes.”

Phil’s hand is already back in his pyjama bottoms when he tells Dan, “Do it, touch yourself.”

He holds off on coming until Dan’s voice breaks on his name, until Dan’s whimpers are nothing but gasps of breath he can’t seem to get enough of. Until he hears Dan’s head thump back down onto the bed with all his weight and a final stilted, “Fuck,” crawl out of his throat.

Then Phil comes too. With Dan’s name on his lips and Dan’s voice in his ear and the image of what Dan must look like in this moment formed clearly behind his eyelids.

Both of their breathing is heavy; it’s the only sound for a good while.

“Is it weird that I wanted to say ‘I miss you’?” Dan asks eventually, ignoring that Phil had said it as well. “Is that, like, I dunno… unhealthy?”

“You’re worried about our codependence now?” Phil teases. “Nearly ten years in?”

“Shut up, we aren’t like _actually_ codependent, are we?”

“I dunno, mate. I think we’d qualify.”

“I could live without you. It’d suck and I like really, really don’t want to. But I mean, I could do it.”

“Oh, could you?” Phil laughs, not because he doesn’t believe him, but because Dan feeling defensive over this is so unnecessary. They’ve talked about this before.

“In the same way I could eat nothing but scrambled eggs for the rest of my life, or never listen to music again. Physically, I could do it. But I’d hate it. I really don’t want to.” Dan’s quiet for a moment before continuing. “When I’m being dramatic I don’t think I could live without you.”

“When you’re being dramatic you didn’t think you could live without Kanye either, and look how good you’ve been with distancing yourself from him! Since he went from merely troubling to genuinely problematic.”

“Please come down here now. We wanked, it was hot, and I miss you.”

So Phil does. Because he misses him too, because he wants all his senses flooded with Dan, and because Dan asked him— because with how many times Dan did something that night when Phil asked him, really it’s only fair that Phil heads down into their bedroom now.

He washes his come-covered hand in the kitchen sink then slips down into the moon room where Dan is already undressed and very nearly asleep, wrapped in their grey duvet and with his curls a wild mess. He smiles when he sees Phil in the doorway.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading— come say hi on [tumblr](http://yikesola.tumblr.com/post/181221966479/old-habit-new-setting) !


End file.
